A Shattered Soul
by chickcow
Summary: A Saturday at Hogsmeade ends in rape. Harry and Ron try to save Hermione, but she may have other plans . . . (AN: First fanfic! Please RR. I'll do the same for you)
1. Attacked

Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.   
Warning: Rape   
A/N: Please R/R. My first fanfic - though I realize it's a dark topic – but I wouldn't mind a little feedback.

* * *

She clutched the bag tighter to her chest, her normally frizzy hair hanging lank on her shoulders. Her breath flew in and out in ragged gasps as she struggled against the man.  
"Don't, my sweet. You won't like the consequences." A sudden force pushed down the leg she had swung at the groin of her attacker. Her face cracked against the stone wall as her unknown assailant slapped her across the face. The bag of Honeyduke sweets she had bought minutes before slipped from her grasp and spilled across the dark alleyway. Hermoine could feel the sting of her tears forming as she heard the muffled sounds of her robes tearing open.  
"Yes, you are a pretty thing, aren't you?"  
"Get off me, you ugly git!" Hermione spat in her attacker's face.  
"You'd better be quiet or I'll do more than just take your precious galleons."  
"You foul, loathsome, evil little toad! Get your bloody hands off me!" Anger flared throughout her body. If Hermione's eyes could shoot daggers, the man would have no face left.  
He leaned in close. "You asked for it, sweets."  
She could smell the firewhiskey on the man's breath and hear his ragged gasps as she felt him grope his way to what he wanted. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what was going to happen. Pain flared in her abdomen as she felt the man invade her. His breathing became more ragged, and as quickly as it had started . . . it was over. She fell to the ground as her attacker released her arms. She could feel the blood and wetness oozing along her thighs as she heard the footfalls of the man running away. She clutched her abdomen, feeling herself fall in and out of consciousness. The last image her eyes captured was the kaleidoscope of color dancing along the alleyway . . . her Every Flavor Beans no longer important as they had been ten minutes ago. As she finally slipped into the bliss of unconsciousness, she heard her name in the distance . . .  
"Hermione!" 


	2. Zonkoed Out

Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**10 minutes earlier** . . .  
It had been on one of the more beautiful days of October that the Hogsmeade trip had been scheduled. The air was crisp and cool, the scent of burning leaves wafting across the main road. Students had swarmed from the castle, anxious for a day of rest and relaxation.  
Hermione sighed as she breathed the fresh air. After days of studying and homework, all she needed was a trip to Hogsmeade. She looked forward to a warm draught of butterbeer and could taste the Sugar Quills she would soon buy. A smile played across her lips. Another bag of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and her new robes would no longer fit.  
"Hellllooooo? Anybody there?" Ron's voice cut through her daydreams. He waved a hand in front of her very spaced-out eyes.  
Hermione frowned. "What, Ron?"  
"We just asked if you wanted to stop in Zonko's before we grab a butterbeer," Harry explained patiently. Ron nodded enthusiastically.  
"Well . . . guys . . . I really wanted some Every Flavor Beans. Can I just meet up with you in five minutes?" Hermione's idea of a good time did not include purchases at Zonko's.  
Hermione thought for a moment she saw Ron's face fall, but an instant later, he had plastered on a large smile. "I guess so, Hermione . . . but don't be late!" He grabbed Harry's arm and led him, protesting, toward the joke shop. Hermione could make out a faint ". . . get her good . . . " before the boys entered the bustle of every Hogwarts' students' fantasy store. She shook her head, as she strolled into Honeydukes, unaware of the pair of black eyes gazing at her retreating form.  
  
Five minutes later, Hermione exited the candy store, a bag of sweets held tightly in her fist. She could almost taste the toffee beans melting in her mouth.  
'_And Ron and Harry won't even get one bean from me. Nope, no wa –_' Hermione suddenly felt herself jerked into an alleyway and pushed against a mossy wall.  
"What- ?" A hand clamped over her mouth. Hermione's eyes focused on an unknown face as her assailant leaned in close. He chuckled softly as he said, "Who would leave such a pretty face alone on such a day as this?" Suddenly, the man's mouth covered hers. She could taste the firewhiskey on his breath.  
_He's going to hurt me!_ Comprehension dawned on Hermione's face. Gasping, she brought up her knee.  
"Don't, my sweet. You won't like the consequences . . ."  
  



	3. Bubbles & Hexes

Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"Hermione!"  
"Hermione!"  
"Where is she?"  
Voices cut through the dark fog of Hermione's mind. Slowly she opened her eyes and found herself staring at a cobblestone alleyway. Footsteps ran past the alley's entrance and the voices retreated into the distance. She moaned and tried to sit up. Suddenly, a wave of nausea overcame her, forcing Hermione to regurgitate what she had eaten for breakfast.  
'_It looked better going down'_, she thought, as she pulled her hair back from her face. She pushed herself to a sitting position. Pain shot through her abdomen. Grabbing hold of her leg, her hand encountered a sticky wetness coating her thigh. As Hermione looked down at the blood, the memory of the past ten minutes rushed into her head.  
'_Oh my goodness'_, she thought, as tears began to spill down her cheeks. _'Look what I've done! If only I had kept my mouth shut, he would've just taken my money.'  
_ Slowly Hermione stood. Her legs wobbled and, thinking she might fall, Hermione grabbed the wall of Honeydukes. She glanced down at her forgotten candy.  
_'Look at the mess I made!'_ Quickly and quietly, Hermione gathered her candy into her Honeydukes bag. She cast a glance at her torn robes. _'I can't walk back like this . . I need my wand . . .'_ Her eyes searched the ground, spotting it a few feet away. Slowly, she walked over and picked it up, aiming at the blood on her legs.  
"Scourgify", Hermione muttered before turning it to her torn robe and adding, "Robe reparo."  
"I can't stay here. I need . . . a bath." And feeling as though she were floating out of her body, Hermione slowly worked her way back to the castle. As she sunk into the fluffy bliss of the bubbles, she realized she could not recall exactly how she made it back to Hogwarts without being caught.  
  
Harry and Ron, meanwhile, had been frantically running up and down the main street of Hogsmeade, trying to find their friend. They checked the Shrieking Shack, Zonko's, Honeydukes, and even the Hog's Head (though Harry had to practically drag Ron into the pub), but caught no sight of their frazzle-headed friend. After over an hour, the duo headed back to the school.  
"I bet she's studying that new charm Flitwick gave us yesterday," Ron muttered. "Trying to get a head's up on the rest of us."  
"But she promised she'd meet us for a butterbeer. Hermione wouldn't ditch us . . . would she?" Harry looked worried.  
"I dunno, mate. Maybe we weren't there when she got to the pub and thought we were up at Hagrid's."  
"Yeah – he got that new batch of Red Caps a few days ago. I bet she stopped in to make sure they hadn't taken a bite out of us."  
Ron laughed. "Or she was wandering the halls and ran into Snape. If I were her, I'd hide behind that statue of the one-eyed witch and cast a hex on him."  
"Nah – I'd rather hex Malfoy!"  
"Malfoy's never alone." Ron's eyes glittered madly. "I bet she got Crabbe and Goyle, too!"  
"And with no professors around, she could do whatever she wanted to them!" Harry doubled over in laughter. After a second, Harry realized that Ron wasn't laughing.  
"What?" he asked, straightening up.  
"Hermione's alone . . . there are no professors around . . . and she's taking on Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle . . . who are passionate about their hatred of non-purebloods . . ." Ron's voice trailed off.  
Harry and Ron exchanged a worried look before bolting for the castle. 


	4. Confrontations

Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Ron and Harry entered the Gryffindor Common Room after having anxiously combed the school for signs of a struggle. Seeing no supine forms of Hermione or the three Slytherins, Harry and Ron had turned a corner and run right into Professor Snape. Fortunately, this meant Hermione had not hexed or cursed their Potions instructor. Unfortunately, Snape had been carrying a vial containing a very rare, very expensive dragon's heart. Running headlong into students and dropping a vial with a very rare, very expensive dragon's heart usually portends misfortune for those students involved. Luckily, Harry, Ron, and the dragon's heart escaped intact, albeit with the Gryffindor hourglass thirty points lighter. The boys had been ordered back to the common room or else be subject to two weeks worth of detention.  
"Just who does that old git think he is?! It was a bloody accident!" Ron yelled.  
"Yeah, well . . . furnunculus," Harry spoke to the portrait and continued as they walked in. "He's lucky I didn't hex his long, ugly nose . . . Hermione!"  
Both boys looked up to see the dripping form of their friend curled up on a chair and writing in a small leather-bound notebook. Hermione slowly tore her eyes away from the apparently fascinating text and looked at them.  
"Hi," she said, and went back to writing in the notebook.  
"Is that all?! HI?!?!?!" A furious rouge crept up Ron's neck. "We just spent two hours searching Hogsmeade AND the castle for you and all you can say is 'hi'?? I mean, we almost got two weeks worth of detention for Snape for bumping into him and all you can say is 'hi'?!?"  
"Ron," Harry muttered, "give her a chance to explain."  
"Sure. Go on then." Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest and fixed Hermione with a gaze that would penetrate a steel wall.  
"I was just tired. That's all. Um . . . you weren't at the pub and I was tired, so I came back," Hermione explained weakly.  
"You didn't come looking for us?" asked Harry.  
"Like I said, I was tired."  
"Why is your hair wet?" Ron piped up.  
"I took a bath. It helps me relax. I'm sorry," she said as she gathered her things, "I'm just amazingly tired. I'll see you later, okay?" With that, Hermione strode up the girls' tower.  
Ron's jaw dropped. Hermione was never one to back down from an argument. He turned to Harry. "Strange, that one?"  
"Yeah, sure" answered Harry. He didn't mention what Ron had failed to see when Hermione strode past – her cheeks were glistening, but it hadn't been from the bath. Harry was absolutely positive that Hermione had been crying. 


	5. An Empty Shell

Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Hermione began withdrawing into herself. Though she spent as much, if not more, time than ever in the library, her grades began falling. Potions quickly changed from a mild irritation to a nightmare. Hermione would forget to add ingredients or even stir the wrong way. Neville, once the bulls-eye of Snape's anger, noticed a shift. Now Hermione was the one who incurred Snape's wrath. Harry took to checking Hermione's progress to prevent her cauldron from exploding. As much as the Gryffindors tried to help Hermione, at the end of the lesson, Snape would always have a word or two for the fallen brainiac. But Hermione didn't seem to care; she would listen to the insults and then quietly gather her things and leave. It was as if she were an empty shell of her former self. Dark circles appeared under her eyes and her once-frizzy hair became lank and stringy. Even the professors began taking notice. Flitwick twice ended class early just to speak to Hermione. After a week or two, Snape showed a glimmer of concern. One day he rebuked Hermione for yet again adding the wrong ingredient to her Laughing Potion. Hermione gave no response to her admonitions – she continued to stare at the bottle of bat venom on the table before her.  
"Granger, were you listening to a word I said?" Snape's dark eyes glittered menacingly.  
Hermione nodded.  
"Well?" The class drew a collective breath, waiting for a quick retort. Perhaps this would be the day Hermione would fight back.  
"Sorry, Professor," she muttered. "It won't happen again." Jaws dropped.  
"What's she getting at?" Ron whispered furiously to Harry.  
Sneering, Snape began to glide away but suddenly halted and slowly returned to Hermione's desk. He bent down and murmured in a voice so low that only Neville, Hermione's lab partner, could hear.  
"You're not up to your usual standards, Ms. Granger."  
No reaction showed on Hermione's face.  
"Have you been mistaking your Forgetfulness Potion for pumpkin juice?"  
Again, no reaction.  
"Perhaps you are not good enough for my Potions class and would be suited with the first years."  
As before, no reaction.  
A flick of what could be concern flashed across Snape's face but was quickly overcome by his usual air of disdain.  
"Ms. Granger, I suggest you seek counsel with your Head of House before returning to my class or I will be forced to speak with her for you." He stood. "Class dismissed!" he shouted as he strode into his office and slammed the door.  
Apparently Hermione did not seek Snape's advice, because two days later, Hermione was approached in the hall between classes by both McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. However, she refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong and chalked up her attitude to a lack of sleep.  
"I'm just stressed," she explained. "Too much work in too little time."  
The next night Harry and Ron cornered Hermione in the Common Room. She had just finished her usual routine of staring at her books and jotting a few sentences here and there on her parchment. As students wandered to bed, Hermione's head began drooping until it had fallen on the table and elicited soft snores. At that point, only she, Harry, and Ron were left. Glancing at each other, the two boys nodded imperceptibly and approached their friend.  
"Hermione," Harry muttered as he shook her shoulder, "wake up, Hermione. We need to talk to you." His hand dropped to his side as her eyelids fluttered open.  
Hermione stirred and sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She glared from boy to boy, her sunken eyes searching theirs.  
"I refuse to do your homework for you," she deadpanned.  
Ron frowned. "With the way you've been going, we should be doing yours."  
"Ron!" Harry admonished. He turned back to Hermione.  
"What's wrong? You're hardly eating . . . you're not sleeping . . . even Snape asked us what's going on . . . err, in a roundabout way."  
Harry grimaced as he recalled the conversation. Bascially, Snape told him to cure Hermione of what was ailing her or the Professor would be forced to start deducting points from Gryffindor until the hourglass was empty.  
"Come on, Hermione. Is it a professor?"  
She shook her head no.  
"Slytherins? Malfoy?" Ron's voice took on a dangerous edge, but again, Hermione shook her head no.  
"Hermione, why –"Harry grabbed her hand, but the moment his skin touched hers, she jumped back as if he had slapped her across the face. Her eyes wide with fear, she drew her arms around her body.  
"Don't . . . touch me. Don't ever touch me again!" Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Shaking, she grabbed her books and bolted from the room before Ron and Harry could react. Both boys stood gaping at her retreating form.  
"Mental, that one . . ." Ron piped up a few seconds later.  
"Ron, we need to talk to McGonagall. Tomorrow, after class."  
Ron gave a small nod. "Tomorrow." 


	6. A Glimmer of Hope

Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.

* * *

The next day, Hermione was not in class, nor was she present at meals. After dinner, Ginny told Ron that Hermione wasn't in the girls' dormitory at all and hadn't been since before classes started. Ron and Harry cornered Professor McGonagall on her way out of the Great Hall. She had been leaving with Snape and Dumbledore. Undaunted, Harry strode right up to the trio.  
"Professor McGonagall, we need to talk to you."  
Minerva stopped and turned, giving the boys a sharp look, as if she were on her way to an important meeting and was suddenly waylaid by traffic. "About what, Mr. Potter? I have much to do before . . ."  
"It's Hermione."  
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dumbledore arch an eyebrow.  
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" The sound of McGonagall's voice drew his eyes back to the professor.  
"Um . . . privately?" Again, Harry felt a curious look from the Headmaster.  
McGonagall looked between the two worried faces of her pupils and sighed. "To my office, if you please. Excuse me, Headmaster, Professor Snape."  
  
A few minutes later, Harry and Ron found themselves standing in front of their professor's desk. Harry felt like a bug under a microscope.  
"Well, Hermione's been acting . . . . strange lately," Ron tried explaining.  
"I've noticed, Mr. Weasley, as have several other professors," McGonagall surveyed them over her glasses, "and have tried speaking with her on several occasions, yet she insists that, barring a little exhaustion, all is well."  
"But is anything you can do?" Harry asked. "Force her to tell what's wrong? Use Veritaserum?"  
McGonagall frowned. "You know as well as I do that I cannot force a student to do or say anything they do not wish to do or reveal. However, since she has not informed either of you, I am seriously concerned. I suggest you allow her to tell you when she is ready. If you still feel that there is something acutely wrong with Ms. Granger, then perhaps she may require a visit to the Headmaster. I doubt that there is anything as serious as that. It may just be a case of pre-N.E.W.T. jitters. Now please go back to your dormitory. I have work to do."  
Harry scowled as he left the classroom. The N.E.W.T.'s were weeks away. Not even Hermione could be that nervous.  
  
An hour later, Harry and Ron wandered out of the school. They had just spent the last hour searching everywhere for Hermione. All her usual haunts – the library, Myrtle's bathroom – were devoid of their friend. Resigned, the two boys decided that a visit to Hagrid might cheer them up. Each held a small glimmer of hope that Hermione was merely holed up with their Care of Magical Creatures teacher. If not, at least Hagrid might provide an insight into Hermione's strange behavior. They trudged onward through the snow, the invisibility cloak held firmly under Harry's arm. With only an hour until curfew, they were unsure whether or not they'd make it back to the tower without being caught.  
Ron's wand was out, lighting the path. Footprints crisscrossed the path before them, caused, no doubt, by students attending that day's Care of Magical Creatures class. As the neared the cabin, the prints slowly disappeared until only one set remained. Four feet before the door, the footprints stopped, as if someone had suddenly changed their mind, and turned toward the lake.  
"Hermione, d'ya think?" Ron asked.  
Harry nodded and motioned toward the lake. "Let's go."  
The boys walked to the lake, the snow muffling their footfalls. They could hear a faint sniffling sound. The light revealed a hunched figure sitting on the shoreline of the ice-covered lake. It appeared unaware of the approaching figures.  
"Hermione?" Harry called.  
The figure jerked upright. Hermione's eyes, wide and bloodshot, surveyed them with horror. "Leave me alone," she croaked, pointing her wand at her two shocked friends.  
"We're here to help you," Ron pleaded, "Tell us what's wrong."  
"You don't know . . . what it feels like. To be . . . be . . ." A sob escaped from Hermione's lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth, whirled, and, her robe billowing behind her, fled into the darkness before Harry and Ron could react.  
"Hermione!" Ron tried to take off after her, but Harry held him back. His eyes were not focused on the running figure, but rather elsewhere.  
"Harry, we need to . . ."  
"Ron – look!" Ron's eyes focused on where Harry was pointing.  
"What's that?" A small leatherbound book was resting near where Hermione had just been sitting.  
"I think it's her journal," Harry explained as he bent to retrieve it.  
"Let's read it!" Ron made a grab for it, but Harry swiftly stuck it in his robes.  
"No way, Ron! It's her personal property!" cried Harry as he took off for the castle.  
"But we could find out what's wrong with her," Ron pleaded.  
"Yeah, but you know Hermione. She probably hexed it."  
"So?" Ron looked exasperated.  
"So she'll know we read it if we go to breakfast with hex marks all over our faces and then she'll never tell us what's wrong."  
Ron sighed. "I guess you're right, Harry. Let's give it back to her tomorrow, though. She'll probably curse us if we sneak up on her again."  
Harry agreed with his friend but couldn't shake the small nagging voice in the back of mind that told him to read the journal. 


	7. A Falling Star

Disclaimer: Blah, blah . . . not mine . . . blah . . . all J.K. Rowling's  
I realize this chapter is short and sweet, but I'm setting up for a few rather long chapters, so don't lose hope!

* * *

Harry lay in bed, tossing back and forth. Hermione's journal lay under his pillow. He had put it there to discourage Ron from reading it but found that the such close proximity had only increased his urge to take a peek. Harry flipped onto his stomach. As much as he wanted to find out what was going on with Hermione, he respected her privacy more. At least that's what he wanted to believe. In truth, his fear of Hermione's hexes far outweighed reading her journal. Harry chuckled. Hermione could curse with the best of them.  
Still thinking about the journal, Harry felt himself slowly drift into slumber. His dreams, however, were dark and disturbing, forcing him to awaken several times during the night. One particular dream forced Harry to a decision.  
Lightning streaked across the enchanted ceiling as Harry fought Ron in a valiant game of wizard's chess. He had just moved his castle to a crucial position when the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Hermione rushed in.  
"Harry! Ron! Help me!" Her face, devoid of color, held a panicked expression.  
"What?!" Startled, both boys surrounded their friend.  
"There's something the matter with me."  
"Tell us," urged Ron.  
"I can't. I'm under a spell that won't let me reveal anything."  
"But, Hermione," Harry pleaded, "How can we help you if we don't know what's wrong?"  
Hermione opened her mouth to speak but a black shadow crossed her face. Her eyes lost their usual luster and gazed unseeing into the distance.  
"I can't take the pain . . ." she whispered as she turned. A cold wind brushed Harry's cheek. He shivered and, looking down, realized he and Hermione were perched on a ledge overlooking a dark abyss. Suddenly, Hermione spread her arms like an eagle and fell.  
"Hermione, NO!" Harry cried as he saw his friend tumble slowly off the ledge. He looked down at his falling friend. Moonlight shone bright on her startled face. As the darkness swallowed her, the light began receding and Hermione's face shone less. With her arms and legs spread, she resembled a once beautiful star falling into obscurity. And Harry suddenly realized that he was the only one who could save her.


	8. Revelations

Sorry it's taking me so long to update. I've been stuck observing in the local high school for my college class, which basically means I sit on my ass from 7:40 until 2:40 each day, watching someone teach the same lesson over and over again. I have more written, but it's taking forever to type it up and then post it. I swear to you, I will finish this story before POA hits theatres June 4th!! Thanks for reading and keep those reviews coming!!

* * *

The shock of his revelation jarred Harry from his dreams. He bolted up in bed, his heart pounding. His mind and gut were now simulateously telling him to find out what was wrong with Hermione. Harry reached under his pillow to pull out the journal.  
_Who cares about hexes?_ He thought defiantly as he carefully unwrapped the leather cord holding in Hermione's thoughts. He thumbed his way to the first page.  
"August 23rd . . . too early," Harry mumbled. "She started acting weird after our trip to Hogsmeade three weeks ago."  
He flipped the pages until he saw October 29h. "There's no entry for the 28th. The next time she wrote was the day after Hogsmeade," Harry muttered as he settled the leather diary on his lap.  
"_Sunday the 29th. My mind continues to dwell on yesterday. It even haunts my dreams. Last night, as I slept, I saw myself in the alleyway again, but this time Ron and Harry were with me. They laughed at me as I was shoved up against the wall, and when I turned to my attacker, I saw it was Professor Snape. He told me that I was getting my 'just rewards for failing so miserably in potions', but then I suddenly awoke. Though the others varied with the vividness of the attack, that one stands out most clearly in my mind.  
Harry and Ron tried to talk to me yesterday. They thought I ditched them. But how could I tell them that I . . . well. And then when Harry touched my hand, it was like a bolt of complete and utter revulsion passed through my body. I couldn't stand his skin on mine. (At this point, the ink changed, as if Hermione had left and then resumed writing with a different ink pot.) I feel tired again. It's like I wake up and function for a few hours, but then my body sort of shuts down on me and I have to lie down. I don't understand what's going on with me."  
_ Harry felt frustrated. She only hinted at what had happened that day in Hogsmeade. At least he was certain, however, that it actually occurred in Hogsmeade. ("Like I didn't know that before," he whispered ruefully.) Harry shook his head and returned to the diary. The next entry was dated 1st November.  
_ "I can't concentrate in potions. Every time I see Snape's face, I think back to the dream and can feel his slimy hands on my body. I know he isn't the one who attacked me, but now I envision his face on my assailant's. I can't bear to be around the professor anymore. Each potions class becomes more and more torturous than the last. Last night I hid in Myrtle's bathroom and brewed a Healing Potion, but I doubt it will work. Hmm – and in class, I'm absolutely useless to Neville. Without my guidance, I can tell he's faring horribly. I can't help him, though. Every time Snape draws near, I relive that horrible afternoon."_  
As Harry continued to read, he noticed each entry was slightly shorter than the last. It were as if Hermione had holed herself up. She didn't write about the attack, just as she wouldn't talk to Harry or Ron about it. Suddenly, Harry came upon today's entry. Several pages long, this entry looked to be the one where Hermione could hole herself up no longer.  
"_Friday 17th November. I've been sitting by the lake most of the day. Snow fell in the wee hours of the night and now the grounds resemble a frosty wonderland. When I breathe, clouds of crystals float from my lips. I realize I must look dead, a frozen ice queen, with my blue lips and frostnipped cheeks. Though now I look it on the outside, no one can tell dead I feel inside. Ever since my rape-"  
_ Harry let out an audible gasp that reverberated throughout the dormitory. _Raped?! She was raped!? Why didn't she tell us!?_ A though dawned on Harry just then. The small nagging voice in the back of his mind suddenly spoke again. _What if she's pregnant?_  
Quickly, he continued reading.  
_". . . I can't get the man's face out of my mind. His eyes, cloudy blue as the sky before a storm, boring into mine. I can't get the odor of firewhisky out of my nostrils or the taste of his tongue on mine. I can still feel his hands, rough on my body, searching, searching . . . Even now I cannot stand the touch of a man. I feel dirty."  
_ Here the writing became unintelligible, blurred by tear marks. Anger surged through Harry's body. His hands gripped the journal so hard, he could hear the binding crackle. One train of thought collided with another, creating a jumble in his mind. _How dare that son of a . . . I'll kill him. Ron and I will . . . Ron doesn't know. I have to tell him - I can't NOT tell Ron. How will he react? We have to be here for Hermione, provide as much support as possible. Should we tell Dumbledore?He'd want to know if a student were attacked. Maybe Hermione already told Dumbledore . . .  
_ Harry pressed on, searching for the answers to his questions.  
_"The teachers have begun questioning me, pulling me aside in class or in the hallway. I think Snape talked to McGonagall after what happened on Monday because two days ago, she cornered me in the hallway. She said professors have been noticing a 'decline in my academic performance' and wanted her to speak with me. Even my transfiguration grades haven't been up to par. I couldn't bear to tell her what happened to me. What if she blamed me for it? So I just told her I was stressed. Anyone could understand that. But I couldn't help but notice the skeptical looks on her and Madame Pomfrey's faces. And then yesterday in potions, Snape would not stop staring at me. It was as if he were trying to read my mind. Every time I bent to add an ingredient in my cauldron, I could feel his eyes one me, but when I looked up, he had his face buried in a book. I've even felt Dumbledore's gaze rest on me a few times this week. Not enough to make me scared that he knows, but enough times that I know he suspects something.  
The people I'm worried most about, however, are Harry and Ron. They've tried to talk to me several times, but I can't bear to tell them what happened. Even though they wouldn't blame me for my rape, there will always be that wall between us. I think they may feel that they'd failed to protect me in Hogsmeade and would never leave me alone again. But how can I tell them it's not their fault, it's mine. Maybe I shouldn't have worn such a short skirt and robe. I shouldn't have fought back – he would've just taken my money instead of . . . my body. If I hadn't insisted on shopping at Honeydukes, then I'd be okay now. I wouldn't feel this great void inside of me. It's as if my heart shut down. I really don't feel . . . anything. Books don't please me, classes are meaningless, I can't eat, nightmares are all that await my dreams. I just want to end it all. To stop the pain and nothingness I feel.  
I actually walked to Hagrid's tonight. I knew he would listen to me, but I stopped before I could knock on the door. Doubts flooded my mind. What if he, Hagrid, my lovable oaf of a friend, blamed me for my rape? What if he tried to find that man and hurt him? What if he told Dumbledore? Or McGonagall? Or worse, Harry and Ron? Would they still remain friends with me? A slut? A charlatan? A stained woman? So I just turned around and walked to the lake, where now I sit. My ink well is running dry and my quill needs sharpened, but I have made up my mind.  
I can no longer continue carrying such a burden as this. All I have to look forward to is loneliness - Ron and Harry will refuse to associate with a common whore, the professors will shun me, Malfoy the rat bastard will delight in my pain. I'm damaged goods. The anguish filling my soul is unbearable. Tomorrow night, I'm going to end my suffering. I should have enough time to send my parents an owl and say goodbye to Ron and Harry. I've heard that cold is a peaceful way to go. Everything just numbs over and then you fall asleep. But how could that feel any different than I feel right now?"_  
There was no more. Ron and Harry must have come upon Hermione moments later. Harry finished reading as the first rays of the dawning sun danced across the pages. He stared in horror at Hermione's last entry.  
_Suicide?!_ he thought. 


	9. Unexpected Aid

Thanks to everyone for the feedback! You're all being very supportive and helpful. I should have a few more posts by the end of the week. Enjoy!

* * *

Harry stumbled into the Great Hall. After such fitful dreams and the startling revelations from Hermione's journal, he could not fall back asleep. Instead he lay in bed and recalled what he had read.  
"_We walked right past her_," he thought. "_We could've helped her, stopped that man from violating her, but Ron and I strolled right past the alley where she was . . . attacked. She struggled with some unknown man while Ron and I drank butterbeer and told jokes."  
_ Now in the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but notice the empty seat by Ron. Hermione wasn't there. A cloud of worry settled on his heart. Walking up to the Gryffindor table, he spotted Ron in heated conversation with Ginny.  
"I'm telling you, Ginevra Weasley, that cat was a menace!"  
"Ron! Just because you had a pipsqueak rat -"  
"Guys! Cut it out!" Harry interrupted his friend's conversation. Lowering his voice, he added, "Where's Hermione?"  
"Still in bed. I could hear her snoring." Ginny answered before her brother.  
Thinking quickly, Harry asked, "Ginny, do me a favor?"  
"Sure."  
"Can you stay in the common room and make sure Hermione doesn't leave until I come and get you?"  
"But it's Saturday!"  
"Please, Ginny? It's a matter of life and death!"  
Skeptical, Ginny searched Harry's face, as if his eyes would betray what he was thinking. Looking resigned, she nodded her assent. "Okay, okay. I have a one foot history parchment to write anyway." As she walked out of the hall, Harry heard her shout, "You owe me, Potter!"  
Ron turned slowly to Harry. "You read it, didn't you?"  
Harry nodded. "How'd you know?"  
"Hex marks on your face."  
"What?!?!" Horrified, Harry grabbed his face. Laughter erupted from his best friend.  
"I'm kidding, Harry. Just kidding." Suddenly serious, Ron leaned in close. "What did it say?"  
As quickly and quietly as he could, Harry proceeded to tell Ron about Hermione's attack and her sudden depression. Ron leapt in the air when Harry told him about the alley. "RAP -"  
"Shhh!" Harry rapidly clamped a hand over Ron's mouth and dragged him down to eyelevel. "D'ye want everyone to hear?"  
Ron looked around. His outburst had caused quite a few students to stop their activities and stare at the two Gryffindors. Even Professor Snape, prowling between the tables, had lifted an eyebrow and slowly began walking in their direction.  
"Ron, let's go," muttered Harry as he dragged his friend from the hall.  
"Go where? Hermione won't talk to us." A pained expression crossed Ron's face.  
"Well, since she was . . . hurt in Hogsmeade, we need to tell Dumbledore. Maybe she'll actually talk to him. Dumbledore has a unique way of getting information from students, whether we realize it or not."  
"I dunno, Harry. I think we should go after the guy who did this to her." Ron suddenly took on a fierce look. "I would just love to kick his ass."  
"We just need to find him first. I bet Dumbledore -"  
"Planning a little attack on the Headmaster?" An oily voice drifted down from above the boys.  
"Sn . . . Professor Snape!" Harry and Ron turned to face the Potions master, who, in turn, glared at the two students. He was quite sure these two boys were up to something, though he didn't know what exactly.  
"Since you choose not to answer me and instead remind me who I am, I will ask again. What do you need with the Headmaster?"  
"Sir, it's Hermione." Ron revealed no more. Thinking of Hermione only pained him.  
"And what about our dear Ms. Granger?" Snape's eyes took on a dangerous edge. "Has she decided she is no longer good enough for my Potions class? Did she break a nail? Was she -"  
"She was attacked!" shouted Ron, then clamped his hand over his mouth.  
Snape's nostrils flared. "Do not shout at me, Weasley. Was she hexed in a hallway? Cursed in a lavatory? I daresay she probably deserved it."  
Anger flashed throughout Ron's body. "Hogsmeade! In Hogsmeade three weeks ago! Hermione was . . . she was . . ." A sob escaped from Ron. Startled by his display of emotion, he struggled to regain his composure. Harry too found himself choked up, unable to finish Ron's thought.  
Snape appeared taken aback. He'd expected an angry retort but not tears. He and the other teachers had noticed a change in Hermione but suspected stress, not . . . Snape noticed the two boys, having regained control of their emotions, now glaring at him, once again the epitomes of self-composure. Snape made up his mind.  
"Follow me." And with a swish of his robes, Snape strode down the hall. Ron and Harry had to practically run to keep up with their professor. They finally stopped in front of the statue that Harry recognized as the entrance to Dumbledore's office.  
"Lemon drop," snarled Snape and a few seconds later Harry and Ron found themselves seated before the Headmaster. Snape left quickly, leaving the boys alone with Dumbledore. Harry found himself suddenly interested in his shoelaces, and silence reigned for a moment. Slowly, Harry raised his head. Dumbledore was regarding him with interest.  
"Professor Snape did not inform me of your . . . discretions. Perhaps one of you would enlighten me as to why you are in my office on a Saturday."  
Harry looked at Ron, who was acting as though his feet were the most interesting things in the room.  
"Well?"  
"It's, uh, Hermione, sir," Harry explained.  
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and leaned in. "Ah, yes. Several professors have voiced their concern for Ms. Granger. It appears that she is over-exhausting herself."  
"It's not that, Professor. It's just that . . . well, we were in Hogsmeade three weeks ago." Harry's voice faltered.  
"Like many others."  
"Well, we left Hermione in Honeydukes and told her to meet us for butterbeers while we bought dung- ah, checked out Zonkos."  
Dumbledore looked amused. "That is also normal. Continue, please."  
"She never showed. We looked everywhere for her, spent hours running around."  
"I assume she was found, since she is currently here with us."  
"Yes, sir." Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself. "You see, she began acting weird after Hogsmeade. She wouldn't talk to us, let us touch her, and didn't act like . . . herself anymore. Last night Ron and I found her by the lake, but she ran away. She left behind a . . . a journal. So I took it for safekeeping. Um, we couldn't figure out why Hermione wasn't Hermione and she wouldn't tell us anything, so I . . . uh, I read her journal."  
"Understandable, Mr. Potter, considering the circumstances," nodded Dumbledore.  
"I found out that in Hogsmeade three weeks ago, Hermione was . . . uh, she was . . ."  
"Raped, Professor!" shouted Ron. "Raped, and she wouldn't tell us! She wouldn't. Bloody. Tell us!" Ron banged the desk with his fist, emphasizing each word. Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks, even as his face erupted with anger.  
Startled, Dumbledore sat back. His face shifted from pale shock to heated anger in seconds, finally resting on an unreadable expression, though his eyes flashed like lightning. Though Harry's own face betrayed no emotion, he could sense the furiousness smoldering within his Headmaster. Dumbledore sat silent for a minute, thinking.  
"Harry, where is Hermione now?"  
"In bed, sir. Ginny's guarding her. I think Hermione might try to do something . . . to herself." He fell silent, glancing quickly at Ron's reaction. His friend sat rigid in his chair, eyes staring defiantly at Dumbledore, as if wishing him to go storming to Hogsmeade, find the rapist, and put a violent end to him.  
Dumbledore, however, appeared unfazed by Ron's emotions. "Mr. Weasley, if you will, go to Professor McGonagall and ask her to fetch Ms. Granger and bring her to me. You will find Minerva in her office. Harry, please bring me the journal. I believe Ms. Granger would like it returned."  
The boys nodded a silent assent and left Dumbledore's office, each one's thoughts resting on Hermione. 


	10. Perchance to Dream

> A/N: What Ron and Harry say in Hermione's dream is NOT right. Keep in mind that Hermione is dreaming, and I'm just showing her agitated state of mind.  
  
Short, short, short. I know. The upcoming chapters should be a bit longer. I start my summer job again tomorrow, so it may be some time before the story is finished, but I swear to you that it will be done before POA hits theatres in June.

* * *

> She sat on her bed, staring at the two boys in front of her. Such a contrast, those two. One dark haired, the other flaming red. One with a large family, the other none at all. One a hero, a legend, the other insignificant to everyone but her and his family. Despite their obvious differences, the two boys had bonded instantly. They now shared a House, a love of dungbombs and butterbeer, and the love and admiration of the girl seated in front of them.   
  
_It's our differences that brought us together,_ she thought, _but our similarities that keep us alive. Dumbledore was right – as long as we have each other, nothing can hurt us._  
  
"Tell us, my sweet. Tell us what happened." The hero gazed accusingly at her.  
  
Hermione looked into the eyes of her two best friends. "I was raped."  
  
Ron chuckled. "I bet you deserved it. Anyone who's raped had it coming. Your robe inching just a little higher, revealing just a bit more, when the boys are looking. Licking your lips at dinner, inviting us all for a taste." He leaned in close. "If you'd give it up so gladly to a stranger, why won't you give it to us?" His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm roughly.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione turned to her emerald-eyed friend, pleading, "Help me, Harry!"  
  
He looked away, his eyes oozing disappointment. "I don't touch damaged goods."  
  
Hermione felt a pressure on her leg as Ron lay his hand on her thigh. "I deserve you. For too long, you've been begging me for it. For too long, you've tempted me . . ."  
  
"NO!!" Hermione jumped up as if shot. She bolted from her room and out Gryffindor tower. Racing down the Hogwarts halls, she was stunned to see students lining the corridor, shouting insults at her.  
"Tramp!"  
"Whore!"  
"Slut!"  
  
She spotted Dumbledore standing serenely at the end of the hall, regarding the spectacle with an air of disgust. Hermione ran toward him, sobbing.  
  
"Help me, Professor! I didn't do anything wrong!" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grasped his hand. Wordlessly, Dumbledore drew his arm into his sleeve, a look of pure hatred marring his grandfatherly demeanor.  
  
"You deserved it, Ms. Granger. Walking alone and looking so tempting, inviting any man to come and sample your goods -"  
  
"NOO!" howled Hermione. She spun around, looking for an exit. Students surrounded her, taunting her, calling her names, their hands tearing at her robe. Hermione searched frantically for a way out. All the doors were blocked by the mob of students and professors. Looking back, Hermione spotted a window behind Dumbledore. Shoving him aside, she bolted for the glass. She could hear the mob thundering at her heels. As she jumped though the window, the shattered glass rained around her, cutting her bare skin, and she could hear a voice calling her name.  
  
"Hermione? Hermione! HERMIONE!!"  
  
Hermione hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of her. Struggling in her sheets, she finally managed to push her head out. With her bushy hair, she resembled a disgruntled lion.  
  
"Hermione Granger!" Again, the voice. As her blurred vision began clearing, she made out the concerned face of Professor McGonagall. Still upset over her dream, Hermione felt her heart rate begin to slow, her breath no longer coming in ragged gasps.  
  
"Ms. Granger, are you all right?"  
  
"I'm . . . fine, Professor. Just a bad dream." McGonagall's presence suddenly disturbed Hermione. "Professor, why are you here?"  
  
"The Headmaster wishes to speak with you. Meet me in the common room in five minutes." With that, McGonagall whirled from the room, leaving Hermione with a growing sense of dread. She had barely enough time to slip into a clean robe and run a brush through her hair before bolting down the staircase. What she saw caused her to start.  
  
McGonagall stood in conversation with Harry. Hermione saw Harry slip a black notebook into the professor's hand. He glanced up quickly when he heard a small noice escape Hermione's lips.  
  
"My journal," she whispered. Harry blanched and hurridly escaped to the boys' dormitory.  
  
"Follow me, Ms. Granger." McGonagall was already striding through the door. Hermione scampered behind the transfiguration professor, winding her way through the castle. Thoughts danced wildly through her head. _Dumbledore? See me? Oh, no. I haven't been doing so well in my classes since my attack. Maybe he's going to expel me! I can see it now . . . 'Your grades are horrendous, Ms. Granger. I think we were wrong in believing you to be a witch. You are, we now realize, a Muggle.' Or maybe it's not my grades at all. What if it's about what happened with Snape? I didn't do anything wrong! I'm going to be expelled, I just know it. 'Ms. Granger, you are inviting trouble into my school. I do not tolerate troublemakers. Be gone!'  
_  
"Am I . . . in trouble, Professor?" she squeaked.  
  
"No, Ms, Granger." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "The headmaster just wants a word. Lemon drop!"  
  
Hermione hadn't realized they'd reached the Headmaster's office and nearly bumped into McGonagall. Slowly the two climbed the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Minerva knocked loudly and, after receiving a curt "Enter", strode inside, Hermione at her heels.  
  
"Sit," commanded McGonagall and indicated a chair before handing the journal to the headmaster. Then, casting Hermione a supportive glance, she left. Hermione heard footsteps and looked up to see Dumbledore seat himself beside her.  
  
"Care to lighten your load, Ms. Granger?"


	11. Enlightenment

  
  
"Your friends seem to be very concerned for your welfare."  
  
"I guess," mumbled Hermione.  
  
"Will you tell me what happened?"  
  
Hermione looked into the sparkling blue of her headmaster's eyes, reflecting both compassion and humor. A surge of courage filled her veins and Hermione suddenly felt herself opening up to the kindly old professor. She told him of her attack, her flight to the school, her feelings, and her dreams. She was forced to stop once during the actual rape, as it became too hard to bear. A whispered "continue" from the headmaster gave her strength to carry on. As she spoke, Dumbledore's face slowly hardened to mask his rage, and she thought she saw a flash of anger, but it was quickly replaced by a look of concentration. At the end of the galf hour, Hermione felt emotionally drained. Neither spoke while Hermione composed herself. She looked up at her headmaster, who gazed back with pity in his eyes.  
  
"My dear Hermione, you have been through quite an ordeal. I cannot begin to imagine what you have experienced. Though I wish you had come to me right away, I understand why you ran away and hid within yourself."  
  
He gently held her hands between his and, for the first time in a month, Hermione did not feel repulsed by the warmth of human touch. She was oddly comforted by the grandfatherly way in which Dumbledore was treating her. She looked from his hands to his worn, smiling face that was lined with so many years of life's experiences.  
  
"I want to kill him." Hermione surprised herself with the amount of acidic hatred in her voice.  
  
"Unfortunately, vengeance is not a Ministry-approved punishment."  
  
"Unless you're Harry Potter," growled Hermione.  
  
"There are exceptions, Ms. Granger. However . . . I do believe I have an idea." He rose and turned to a large cherry cabinet adjacent his desk. Opening the doors, he reached in and pulled out a round shallow basin.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked, for, despite her abnormal thirst for knowledge, she had not come upon the object in any of her books.  
  
"A pensieve. It is used to clear one's brain of clutter. In essence, to make sense of the nonsense within," explained Dumbledore as he pulled out his wand. "Now, you may find your memories a bit overwhelming, but I wish to produce an image of your attacker to hand over to the Ministry for further investigation. If you'll allow me . . ." he indicated his wand. Hermione nodded and closed her eyes, unsure of what to expect.  
"Concentrate on the attack."  
  
Memories flooded her mind. Hermione could once again hear the tearing of her robes, the receding footsteps of her attacker.  
  
"Concentrate on his face," murmured Dumbledore.  
  
Once again, the grey eyes bore into hers, sweat gathering at her attacker's brow, despite the cool October afternoon. His long chestnut hair flopped dejectedly into his face. She realized, for the first time, that she could look evenly into his face, meaning he was only as tall as she. As Hermione pictured the man's face in her mind, she felt a light touch on her head and the image disappeared from her mind. She opened her eyes to see the headmaster place a silver thread into the basin. As Dumbledore swirled his wand within its murky depths, a figure rose from the basin.  
  
"Don't move, my sweet." The voice that haunted Hermione's nightmares filled the room. Suddenly queasy and dizzy at the same time, Hermione closed her eyes and fought the urge to scream. The gravely voice continued to speak, but Hermione heard an undercurrent of sound . . . A scratching noise caused her to open her eyes and glance about the room. She looked down at Dumbledore's desk, where a quill was quickly composing a sketch of the figure in the basin.  
  
"A rather useful tool," spoke Dumbledore from beside the pensieve. "I once fell asleep at my desk and awoke an hour later to find a finished portrait of myself lying next to me. As I do not wish for my students nor any other professors to find a picture of the headmaster drooling onto his sleeve, I have disposed of said portrait."  
  
A glimmer of a smile appeared on Hermione's face as she imagined the scene. As she pushed the image from her mind, the scratching stopped. Dumbledore picked up the parchment and regarded it for a moment, as if committing the face to memory. After a few seconds, he reached for his wand, pulled Hermione's thought from the pensieve, and deposited it back in her mind.  
  
"I will send this immediately to the Ministry," Dumbledore intoned as he picked up the portrait. "I assure you that we will find him. For now, however, I believe you have two boys who are very worried about their friend. Perhaps you should speak to them." He suddenly regarded her with a very grave expression. "I will have to inform the teachers about your experience. I promise you that I will not delve into details, but only wish to provide an explanation as to your behavior. Hogsmeade will have to be more carefully regulated."  
  
Hermione nodded, rose from the chair, and turned to leave. Halfway to the door, she halted and, without thinking, spun around and ran to the headmaster, grabbing him around the middle in an unmistakable hug. Silent tears stung the corners of her eyes as she felt him draw back, surprised, and then slowly wrap his arms around her. Then, with a pat on the back, Dumbledore guided her to the door.  
  
"If you ever feel the need to relieve yourself of a burden, Ms. Granger, please come to my office. I always have time for those whose hearts are heavy. And, Hermione . . ." Dumbledore spoke softly; Hermione, her foot on the first step, looked back at him.  
"It's not your fault."  
  
Hermione nodded and slowly made her way down the staircase.  
  
After Hermione left, Albus trotted back to his desk. He quickly jotted down a note covering what he had just learned from Hermione., then strode over to Fawkes.  
  
"Please give this note to Minerva. She'll do an excellent job of explaining all this to the other teachers. I'll be in London for the afternoon."  
  
Fawkes nipped his finger, grabbed the note, and disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Satisfied, Dumbledore grabbed the portrait and walked to the fireplace. Grasping a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fireplace, clearly spoke "Ministry of Magic", and released the powder. A flash, and he was gone. 


	12. Searching

The talk with Dumbledore had left Hermione emotionally drained. On her way back to the dormitories, she passed Ron and Harry in the Common Room. Looking up, Harry made as if to stop her, but halted when Hermione raised her hand.  
  
"Let me nap. I'll meet you at dinner." She climbed the stairs to the girls' room and fell face first on her bed, asleep even before her body hit the sheets.  
  
There were no nightmares for Hermione this time. She slept the dreamless, empty sleep of those truly exhausted. She barely felt Ginny's hand on her arm hours later.  
  
"Hermione, do you want dinner?"  
  
Slowly Hermione raised her head and looked into the worried face of the youngest Weasley. Ginny's visage emitted a concerned air as her eyes searched the elder's face, as if worried about her answer. Hermione gave her a shaky grin.  
  
"Give me a sec, Ginny. I'll be right down."  
  
A broad smile invaded Ginny's features and she bounded down the steps to the Common Room. Hermione sat up and stretched, her body aching as if it had fought a great battle. Her stomach let loose a loud growl, startling her.  
  
'_I can't remember the last time I ate_,' Hermione thought. She walked over to the mirror and gazed at the stranger before her. Her face was drawn, gaunt, emphasizing her eyes. She was thinner, too; her clothes hung loosely on her small frame. She tied her hair into a ponytail, bringing forth her sunken eyes and cheekbones, making her resemble a living skeleton. She turned away, unable to bear seeing herself, a phantom of her former self. Slowly Hermione walked down the stairs and to the Great Hall.  
  
The feast was already in full swing when Hermione entered. She seated herself at the Gryffindor table, across from Ron and Harry.  
  
"Hey guys." She smiled weakly.  
  
A grin cracked across Ron's face. "Welcome back, Hermione."  
  
Harry opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the silky drawl of Ron's favorite ferret.  
  
"Looks like Granger has decided to join the land of the living, though she doesn't look it."  
  
Hermione looked up to see a certain Slytherin looming over her.  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry leapt to Hermione's defense.  
  
"Awww, Potter. Defending your little mudblood girlfriend?"  
  
"Cut it out, Malfoy." Ron joined Harry.  
  
"You look pale, Granger. Feeling a bit weak? Perhaps it's a blood illness, you know, mudblo-"  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I wonder how you could have wandered so far from your table? Were you lost?" All four students jumped in surprise as Snape's slick tones cut off Draco. "I suggest you find it. Now."  
  
Malfoy's face reddened, and he scampered with as much dignity as he could muster back to the Slytherin table. Snape cast a cursory glance over the three students, settling his eyes on Hermione.  
  
"Ms. Granger, meet me at eight o'clock Monday night in my dungeon. Do not be late."  
  
"W-why, Professor?" Hermione stammered.  
  
Snape's mouth stretched into what would have been a slight smile on most people, but merely made the professor look as if he had a terrible secret.  
  
"Remedial potions," he sneered as he drifted away. Hermione swore that, when she looked into his face before he left, a hint of pity had flashed in his eyes.  
  
'_Ahhh_'¸ Hermione thought. '_The professors know_.'  
  
Ron looked stunned. "Well, that was . . . surreal."  
  
Why'd he do that?" Hermione asked.  
  
Harry blushed. "Ah, when you were napping, McGonagall called all the teachers together. I was passing by her classroom and overheard her telling them about your . . . er, what happened to you in Hogsmeade. Snape was surprisingly nice – said he'd let you re-brew some of your potions. All the teachers agreed to offering you some leniency."  
  
Perplexed, Ron asked, "How'd McGonagall know?"  
  
"Dumbledore told her." Hermione suddenly felt suspicious. "Uh, Harry? I doubt McGonagall would just leave the door open while she talked to the other professors. So, truthfully, how'd you overhear?"  
  
Harry blushed. "Um . . . extendable ears. They work wonders."  
  
"Harry!" Hermione was shocked. "What if you were caught? You could get expelled!"  
  
"Who cares? We wanted to find out what happened with Dumbledore. You weren't talking to us, so we merely . . . found our own way of answering our questions."  
  
Hermione felt a surge of affection.  
  
"Let's go, guys." She dropped her fork and grabbed their hands. "I bet Hagrid's lonely."  
  
As Hagrid opened his door, a wide grin broke out across his face.  
  
"Well, hello, you three! I've been missing you!" His gaze rested on Hermione. "'Specially you." He grabbed her in a bone-crushing hug. "Lemme just put on a spot of tea."  
  
The three settled into Hagrid's, soon grasping a large cup of tea. They spoke of everything that had happened in the school since their last social call, and Hagrid showed them Fang's new trick (he could sniff out Hagrid's socks and pile them on his bed). Hermione could tell Hagrid was dancing around the subject of her rape. He hadn't asked them about the Hogsmeade visit, and Hagrid was strangely not meeting Hermione's eyes. During a lull in the conversation, Ron brought up the subject of Snape and how he had chastised Malfoy at dinner.  
  
"It was bizarre, Hagrid. He was almost . . . nice. Do you know why?"  
  
Hagrid mumbled something about needing milk in his tea and quickly stood, but Hermione's words caused him to plunk back down again.  
  
"He knows I was raped, doesn't he, Hagrid?"  
  
Hagrid nodded in response.  
  
"And all the teachers know because McGonagall told them . . . so you know, too."  
  
Again, Hagrid nodded, not quite bringing himself to meet her eyes.  
  
"Hermione," Ron's voice cracked. "What exactly happened?"  
  
Hermione looked at her friends and saw worry and questions lining their faces. She was almost tempted to not give up the details. How would they react? She hesitated, then took a deep breath, deciding it was best to launch into the story before she doubted herself out of it. It was a much easier telling this time. Apparently, her talk with Dumbledore had helped cleanse some of her wounds and quelled some of her emotional self-flogging. The only time she stopped was during her description of the actual rape, when Hagrid had jumped out of his chair and shouted, "I'll kill 'em!" Harry and Ron sufficiently calmed Hagrid so Hermione could finish her story. She told them of her nightmares and her fears of being a ruined woman. Every so often, an indignant huff would escape her half-giant friend. When Hermione finished, she slowly brought her head up to gauge her friends' reactions.  
  
Hagrid wiped a tear from his eye and spoke first. "I would never ha' abandoned ya, Hermione. My hut door's always open for ya."  
  
Harry grasped her hand in his and gave her a quaking smile, unable to speak.  
  
Finally Hermione turned to Ron, who was fiddling with his wand. He looked up at her, infinite sadness welling within his eyes. "Hermione," he nearly whispered. "You're not ruined. You survived this attack and are stronger now . . . we'll always be here for you, me and Harry and Hagrid. Friends do that because I - we love you."  
  
At his words, Hermione sprang into the arms of her friends.  
  
"I thought I was lost," she murmured, "but you all helped me find myself."  
  
An hour later, with the night stars shining brightly, the trio slowly made its way across the snow-covered ground, the ice crystals crunching under their feet. They snuck into the Great Hall, hoping no one had seen their footprints in the snow. There were no teachers in sight. Breathing a sigh of relief, they turned to the stairs to return to the dormitory and were frozen mid-step at the sight of the Headmaster. His eyes twinkled as he saw the boys' hands instinctively grasp their wands. Both had shifted slightly, moving Hermione behind them. However, when they recognized the professor, both relaxed.  
  
"Ah – Ms. Granger, how nice to see you out and about."  
  
Hermione tensed. She was going to get her friends in trouble. It must be hours past curfew now. As she looked up, the Headmaster's bright eyes took in the melted puddle trailing out the doors.  
  
"We were visiting Hagrid, sir." Ron felt the urge to explain.  
  
Dumbledore's smile broadened. "I surmised as much. However, it is past curfew now. I suggest, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, that you return to your rooms. Ms. Granger, I would like to have a word with you in my office."  
  
Troubled, Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron. "Sir, uh, may they come with us?"  
  
Dumbledore paused, thinking, and nodded a moment later. "I understand that sometimes one needs the unseen support of two stalwart friends. However, I believe this time it would not hurt to have these young gentlemen at your side. If you would please follow me."  
  
And with a swirl of robes, the Headmaster turned and strode to his office, the three Gryffindors trailing behind.


End file.
